


Beds And What Is Hidden Under Them

by Iithril



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Back Pain, Beds, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iithril/pseuds/Iithril
Summary: The plan said it was supposed to be an uneventful night, as Frank only wanted to gather intel on the gang he was watching.Life often strayed away from the plan. This time, life included a single bed in an empty room as the only hiding place. Maybe Frank should have checked under the bed before hiding, too.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91
Collections: Daredevil Bingo





	Beds And What Is Hidden Under Them

**Author's Note:**

> NaNo made me do it, round two! Have another silly Fratt first encounter for the holidays. 
> 
> This story fits my Daredevil Bingo's prompt _coulda been a contender_ , and is also a fill for the Anonymous Prompt "_There is someone coming in, Matt and Frank hide them selves under the bed. (Not their room.)_" from the [Daredevil Exchange's Free Prompts](https://daredevilexchange.tumblr.com/prompts2)!
> 
> As always, many thanks and my endless gratitude to my beta for this story, [Arboreal](https://https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/)!

It was supposed to be an uneventful night. Nothing too fancy, only some patrolling, figuring out the routines of the guards and their rotation schedule, maybe get the day of the delivery of the merchandise.

That was _the plan_. Frank had learnt quite early that life often strayed away from the plan. He didn't like it much, although it had allowed him to meet great people, for it implied everything could go wrong. And tonight, he didn't want things to go wrong. In a week, when he'd come back to the place with loaded guns, his Punisher vest and enough rage to burn the place down, then yeah, things could go wrong, he wouldn't care. He'd blow them up.

Tonight, he was tired. He had a lingering cold that made him sniffle, and awful back pain. Now, the Punisher wasn't supposed to care about back pain. The big bad Punisher was about a lot of blood, even more pain, just the right amount of bullets, and maybe explosions. More efficient to take a place down, y'know.

But he must have made a wrong move, cause his back was killing him, and even restrained his range of movement. He had to go see Curtis, had even phoned him to ask him if he was available, and his friend wasn't, and Frank understood, because Curtis was with a woman and Frank respected that. He had put Curtis through enough shit against his will, he could wait a few days for back pain.

At least, that was before the plan went wrong.

First wrong move was to enter the place. He wanted more intel on the delivery date, if possible directly from one of the guards — no take down, only hiding, maybe bugging the place with Micro's tech, and then go home and listen to the conversations with a good beer. Frank wished he could have a beer right now.

So, he had entered the place. Sneaked in by a window, tiptoed in a corridor, entered the adjoining room to the one where guards were talking. The walls were thin, the guards careless enough to speak loud and clear. Sounded perfect, right?

Second mistake was to think the guards would say something useful. He should have been used to it, he had been doing the same shit for quite a long time now. Minions were minions, they didn't know much. They had talked about women, parties, weapons, money, women again, then one of them seemingly brought alcohol — enough alcohol for them to shout instead of talking normally — and their conversations grew increasingly insubstantial. Frank should have decided to go home, but he really wanted to know the delivery date.

It would have spared him a lot of trouble to know the date, he had thought.

Joke was on him.

Third mistake, and hell, that made a lot of mistakes for a single evening. Maybe it explained why the plan had gone wrong, huh? Frank blamed it all on the back pain. It turned his mind into mush, this pain. A constant white noise that covered his thoughts, making it hard for him to think things through properly. He shouldn't have waited. But Curt was with a woman.

Third mistake, thinking the guards couldn't open the room. He had entered through the window, and the door was locked, he had checked. Why hadn't he thought that the guards could have keys? He had no idea. Back pain, man.

But they had had keys. And once they had decided they had had enough of talking nonsense, guffawing and slamming on walls and tables because it was _hilarious_ , one of them had had the brilliant idea to unlock the door and to crash on the bed standing in the middle of the room. The man had started to snore immediately after his head had hit the mattress, and the sound had made the others laugh again.

Frank didn't want to be seen. It was supposed to be scouting only, he didn't want to take down anyone, because that would alert the high-ranking minions and they had the power to change the date, to bring more men or to cancel the delivery altogether. Frank didn't want that.

He had decided to hide in the only hiding place he could think of in this room devoid of furniture: under the bed. He could have jumped out the window again, as any sensible person would have. The guy was too drunk anyway, he wouldn't have noticed a single thing, and Frank would have been home already, with a beer, on his couch. Maybe even with pizza.

But no, he had crawled under the bed, his heart beating too loud in his ears and his back-- shit, his back felt like a field of needles. Not needles, daggers. And a new dagger appeared with every movement, every muscle's flinch. At least he was laying on the floor now, his movements were limited.

Fourth mistake, and the only one that may not be a mistake, because _how was he supposed to know_?

Fourth mistake was that he hadn't checked under the bed when he had entered the room. Had he checked under the bed, he would have noticed _there was already someone here_. Who had seemingly made the same mistake Frank had, but before him. Frank had prevented him from fleeing the place when he had entered. 

The man must have been startled to see Frank slide under the bed, but he had left some room for Frank to hide instead of kicking him out. Which was weird, but Frank was past weird.

And now, he was stuck under a bed, in some shitty place in the middle of empty warehouses, with drunk men holding guns roaming the building, another drunk man asleep above him and someone right next to him.

Life had strayed from the plan, hard and fast.

Frank considered his options. He could try to crawl out and to escape by the window again, but he wasn't so sure his back would allow it, and from what he could see, the guards had switched the outside projectors on, which meant his chance of not being seen, fully dressed in black against a white wall, were thin. He wasn't willing to bet on the intoxication rate of the men that patrolled outside, as a failure would jeopardise his days of research and preparation. Also his life, but he was used to that.

He could try to move further into the building and search for another way out, but his chances of finding an exit without encountering anyone were slim, and his mind was too foggy to make quick decisions in case he needed to hide again.

His best option was to spend the night here, leave at dawn, right before the guards switched. With a little luck, his back wouldn't kill him anymore, at least enough to allow him to climb up the roofs again. He could use a little luck, after so many mistakes in a row.

The stranger stirred next to him, and Frank cast a glance to his side. He was blocking the light coming from outside, so all he could see was a vague shape, dark clothing, a mask. He could feel the man's warmth, hear his breathing — not too frantic, but quite fast nonetheless. If he leant a few inches to the side, he would touch him. It felt surreal. They hadn't said anything, the guard's snoring filling the silence. Thankfully, the bed had a wood batten, which didn't bend under the weight of the sleeper.

Frank sighed, rotating to his side, facing the man. He didn't want to turn his back on a complete stranger, even though he had let him hide right next to him. His brain was trying to tell him something, a little voice doing its best to transmit information, but it was lost in the fog and the throbbing pain.

He put his hand under his head, shifted a bit until his back wasn't feeling like it was on fire anymore, and prepared himself to sleep. If he could get a few hours of sleep, it would give him back some critical thinking and he would have a better chance to get out of here without being seen. Frank could use some critical thinking, along with a little luck.

He tried not to think about the fact the stranger's face was _really_ close to him, that he was hiding under a bed with someone he didn't know and that he was going to sleep at his mercy. Critical thinking? Nah, Frank didn't know that. Maybe tomorrow.

~°~

Matt stayed still as long as he could, his heartbeat under control, not making a single sound, until the man's breathing evened, his chest rising and falling steadily. How he could sleep like that, Matt didn't know, but he also didn't want to know.

He was more interested in knowing why _the fucking Punisher was falling asleep inches apart from him_.

He exhaled shakily, trying to wrap his head around the events of that night.

First of all, he had entered the building with the intent to learn a bit more about the upcoming weapon delivery. He could hear the guards talking from far away, but the biggest gathering of them was further in the building, and all the ambient sounds — the buzzing of wires, the rumble of the building — covered voices, and he didn't want to miss the date if they talked about it. He could have focused a little harder, but it messed with his brain to do that, whereas entering through the window was... Well, let's just say he was used to entering buildings via windows, and that didn't cause a headache.

He had learnt nothing. Nada. _Rien de rien_. At least he was inside, sitting on the bed, listening carefully. Nothing too bad, for a mission. He had seen much worse.

Then he had picked up the heartbeat on a close rooftop, and he would have fled, had he not been certain he would have been seen. This heartbeat wasn't one Matt could mess up with. His previous encounters with the owner of this pulse had been explosive, to put it mildly. He _had_ interrupted the Punisher's fight to prevent him from shooting someone in the head at point-blank range, yeah. He had also thrown two of his guns into the Hudson, sure. And he may have thrown a punch right into the guy's guts, but in his defence, the Punisher was running straight at him with a cry that didn't bode well for Matt's physical integrity.

Matt wasn't sure the Punisher would have shot him from a distance. If he was on a rooftop, he either had binoculars or a sniper rifle, if not both, probably coupled with thermal reading, but he also had some sort of moral code, even though Matt couldn't figure out how it worked. He didn't dare to try, and decided he would leave when the Punisher would. Easy, right?

Except the heartbeat had moved closer, and closer, to the point there could be no mistake regarding his destination. He was heading straight to the room Matt was in. Had he noticed him, somehow?

Matt had hidden in the only available hiding spot, under the bed, concealing his heartbeat and his breathing. If the man had thermal reading, Matt would be busted immediately, but he had to try. He didn't want to confront him if he could avoid it.

He had listened intently as the Punisher had entered the room, stood in a corner and stayed still. It felt stupid to hide under a bed, like a frightened child who wanted to avoid a monster, and seconds had stretched into minutes, then into hours. The Punisher had barely moved, but Matt had had plenty of time to listen to his every sound, analysing each position shift.

He had concluded the man's back must have been sore, because each time he had shifted, he had held his breath and exhaled sharply, groaning and grunting. Given how reckless his fighting style was, it was only normal his body was taking its revenge, but that made him strangely more human to Matt. 

While he was stuck under the bed, he had wondered how the Punisher was outside of his vigilante missions. Was he softer, gentler, or was his face as impassive? What did he do when he headed home in the dead of night, once he had shot and punched enough bad guys for the day?

He smelt like gunpowder, obviously. There was a hint of beer, which matched with the character. Matt couldn't imagine the Punisher drinking expensive red wine in a suit, it didn't fit the mental representation he had built of the man. There were remnants of chicken, probably tandoori chicken. Matt knew a place that sold delicious tandoori chicken. Maybe the Punisher had stopped there before going home the previous day, or maybe he had prepared his chicken himself. Did he cook? He didn't feel like the type to spend hours in the kitchen, but Matt had always seen him in peculiar contexts, so he couldn't really say.

At some point, the guards outside had brought beer, vodka, and rum and had proceeded to get drunk in a surprisingly short amount of time. Matt had still listened to their conversation, in the hope that they would mention the delivery, but _all the guards_ in the building were getting drunk as well and he hadn't learnt anything.

And then it had almost gone very bad. A man had stumbled into the room, and the Punisher, who didn't want to be seen either, most likely because he also wanted information about the delivery date without alerting the gang, hadn't fled. 

Matt still couldn't understand why, but maybe it had something to do with the back pain. The vigilante had strained quite a lot when he had entered through the window — less practice than him, Matt had thought at first, a bit smugly, before revising his judgement.

The Punisher hadn't fled, he had crawled under the bed, intending to hide there until the guard moved out of the room. He had been surprised to see there was already someone there, his heartbeat had picked up, but he hadn't made a noise. The man above them had started to snore, his head buried in the mattress, and Matt had stifled a deep sigh.

Thankfully, the Punisher didn't seem to recognise him. He had been laying on his back at first, and Matt had realised they had never been this close without punching each other. Neither of them had said a single word. It felt surreal.

Matt could have left at this point. The guard was deeply asleep, those patrolling outside were drunk as well, and he didn't have any back pain that prevented him from climbing his way back to the rooftop.

But that would have implied leaving the Punisher here, all alone. The man didn't have enhanced senses, he couldn't make his way out of the building like Matt could, avoiding the guards by hearing them way before they even came close to him. 

It was obvious he was in pain — now that he was so close to Matt, it was easy to feel how he stilled and relaxed spasmodically, shifting ever so slightly to find a better position. And while his moral code was obscure, Matt's own code was pretty clear. There was no way, despite their former altercations, Matt could leave him alone. Not when he could stay close and protect him. If they waited until morning, right before guards changed, Matt could help him find a way out that didn't involve a window.

That was, of course, if the Punisher didn't put a bullet right between Matt's eyes as soon as he discovered who was inches away from him, but Matt was oddly confident about this part.

So he waited. He waited until the Punisher turned to face him, which scared him, but nothing happened and he slowly fell asleep. It took longer than Matt expected, but eventually his breath became even and he stopped grunting. Matt could feel his own hair moving with the man's breathing, the warmth emanating from him. They were lucky, the blanket on top of the bed was falling on each side and extended over the edge, making some sort of insulation with the mattress on top of them, so it wasn't too cold.

Matt didn't want to fall asleep too — he needed to stay alert in case anyone else entered the room, and ready to wake the Punisher up when they could leave. But the steady heartbeat next to him, the warmth of their hiding place, the stress after wondering if the vigilante would recognise him or not, everything combined made him drowsy, and he could feel himself drifting away.

He woke up with a jolt several times after sleeping for a few seconds, and almost hit his head on the batten. He lost the battle against Morpheus at some point, his body giving up on him. It wasn't supposed to feel comfortable, this close to a potential enemy, surrounded by hostile armed men, hidden under _a bed_ , but he fell asleep.

~°~

Frank slowly woke up, feeling like shit. It took him a second to identify that there was a hand shaking his shoulder, another to remember his tricky situation the previous evening, and a painful, long third second for his brain to kindly inform him that the man he had spent the night with and who was currently shaking his shoulder was actually someone he knew. There was enough natural light entering the room for him to see, now.

Then his body reacted by itself and he was about to punch the guy in the face, but his blow was intercepted and another hand landed on his mouth, the man coming real close to him, so close they almost touched.

"Don't make a noise or they'll hear us," the fucking Devil of Hell's Kitchen hissed, and Frank glared at him, anger rising in his chest. His back chose this very moment to remind him that it was supposed to hurt and he inhaled sharply. Daredevil didn't move, his stupid mask covering the top of his face, but his mouth was shut in a thin line, and he was seemingly expecting something from Frank, who nodded just enough for the vigilante to take his hand off Frank's mouth.

"Next time you do this," Frank whispered as aggressively as he could, "I bite you."

An eyebrow shifted under the fabric of the mask, Frank was actually close enough to see it. Daredevil just answered cockily, "You want a next time?"

"Oh fuck you," Frank mumbled, readying his gun.

"Don't you dare," he added for good measure, because the Devil acted like a tease and all Frank wanted was to head home, call Curtis and fix his back. Being flirted with wasn't on his list of the day, nor was sleeping under a bed with the guy who had annoyingly interrupted his missions several times during the past weeks. He couldn't believe he hadn't recognised the man when he had hidden under the bed, their faces so close they could have touched.

And why hadn't the Devil left? Why had he decided to spend the night at Frank's side? He could have jumped out of the window without any problem — and he seemed to have a knack for knowing if there were people around, so he could have stayed undetected. Instead of that, he had woken Frank up by shaking him, and he was now lying _real close_ , his mouth open, his hand lingering on Frank's shoulder. In fact, Frank was sure they breathed the same air.

That wasn't on his list either.

"Listen, guards will shift soon. The drunk one on top of us is still sleeping, and he'll wake up with a wonderful hangover, so we don't have to worry about him. We have to move, _now_ ," Daredevil hushed quickly, and Frank was trying not to stare at his lips, but it was the only thing he could see of his face and they were moving, so it was hard. He hadn't properly woken up either, his mind still fighting against sleep, and the warmth of their hiding place made it even more difficult for him.

"Hey, man, did you hear me?" the vigilante asked, moving his hand close to Frank's face, almost touching him but deciding not to at the last second. Good. Frank would have jerked his hand away.

"Frank."

"Excuse me?"

"Frank. Not man. And yeah, I heard you," Frank whispered.

"Okay, Frank. You follow me, I'll get you out."

Frank nodded, pushing away the mountain of questions he had for the man, starting with "Why the fuck did you stay here all night?". He knew when it was time for action, and if Daredevil was right, they had to move at the right time cause they wouldn't get another chance anytime soon. Straining, trying his best to be as stealthy as possible, he rolled from under the bed and got on his knees, his gun pointed straight at the drunk guard.

"Frank, no!" the Devil hissed again at the other side of the bed, ready to jump on him. Ignoring him, Frank put his gun back in his holster and shrugged. He wasn't going to shoot the man, he wasn't stupid. The guard was sleeping like a rock, he hadn't even flinched when they had come from under the bed, he wouldn't be able to do anything.

He walked out of the room following Daredevil, who was doing an impressive job at moving around silently. Fucking ninja. In comparison, he felt like an elephant, with his boots tapping on the floor with each step, matching the persistent migraine banging in his head.

They dived deeper in the building, crossing doors and corridors, all empty. Daredevil was tilting his head left and right like an owl, his mouth moving, and Frank used the opportunity to take a good like at him. It was the first time he was seeing him in a properly lit environment — not under the flickering lights of neons, not in pitch darkness, because Daredevil had something against lights and was shutting them down any time he could, and not on rooftops with only the ambient everlasting light of the city shining on them.

His costume looked like pyjamas, black and comfortable. The mask was actually a bandanna or a piece of fabric tied behind the man's face. Could he see through it? He had to, he was moving too well for someone whose vision was impaired by the mask.

Frank was lost in his thoughts, thinking again about why the Devil had stayed under the bed instead of leaving, when a hand smacked across his chest and he was pushed in a corner, Daredevil's body against his. From the corner of his eye, he noticed another hand coming at this mouth, and he grabbed it this time.

"Stop doing that," he growled.

"Shh, guards," Daredevil answered, ignoring Frank's protest, and Frank could feel the way his body tensed.

He was slightly taller than the Devil, he noticed absentmindedly. He let go of the man's hand after a second, and waited until Daredevil deemed it was okay for them to continue.

After the third time he was pushed in a corner without hearing a single sound, he whispered, "You're not making this up, huh?"

Daredevil snickered. "You wish I did," he teased, and Frank rolled his eyes.

He didn't know the man was such a tease, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Another day, under different circumstances, he would have said something, bantered with all his energy, because it was _infuriating_ , but this time he let it slide. He wasn't sure he could respond with something coherent, and the man enjoyed having the last word, something Frank didn't have the mental resources to deal with at the moment.

If Daredevil was surprised by his lack of answer, he didn't say anything else, only murmuring, "We're almost out," when they moved again.

Finally, after yet another staircase, they arrived in front of an emergency door that Daredevil pushed open with a smile.

"There you go, we're out," he said to Frank, turning to face him.

They stayed silent, looking at each other, until Frank muttered, "Thanks," and the vigilante just cocked his head at him with a smile before enquiring, "You can get home for here?"

"Yeah," Frank replied after scanning his surroundings. He would pick up the gear he had left up on the rooftop later. For now, he was all about going home, eating something, finally drinking his beer and pondering everything that had happened, including the fact he hadn't shared his personal space with anyone for such a long period of time in ages, especially not with his guard down. It hadn't happened since Maria.

In hindsight, he couldn't help but think of all the thousand ways it could have gone wrong. He had been sort of lucky that it was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen trapped under that bed. The man was rigged with a strict moral code that prevented him from killing anyone — Frank couldn't have been safer.

There still was the proximity, he thought as he observed Daredevil run away, jumping swiftly against a wall and making his way up to the rooftop like a pro. The comfortable warmth he had basked in.

He knew his judgement had been clouded by pain, but that could have cost him his life, and that made him angry at himself.

He slowly walked back to his apartment, his vest zipped up to under his chin and his hands shoved in his pockets. Each step was painful, but he took a moment to stop and buy a pizza, as a consolation. When he arrived at his place, he closed his apartment's door with a relieved sigh, grabbed his phone and dialled Curtis' number.

" _Hey man, you alright?_ "

"Could be better. You free for my back today?" Frank asked as he munched a slice of pizza.

" _It's almost noon, you know that? What took you so long?"_

"I'll tell you when you come."

" _Better be good_."

Curtis hung up, and Frank scoffed, pain jolting in his lower back at the motion. His friend was coming over to take care of his back, he would probably say something like Frank needed to take a few days off, complain when Frank would make it clear he wasn't staying inactive for that long, and then ask about the story. 

He wasn't ready for what Frank had to say, but maybe he could give him some advice. Probably starting with checking hiding spots beforehand and not sleeping next to the Devil, but Frank was past that now. Life had had other plans.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~


End file.
